


End of the Road

by grey_sw (grey)



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Afterlife, Established Relationship, Festivals, Fishing, Friendship, M/M, New Game Plus, Post-Canon, Slice of Life, True Love, Zine: Matsuri: An Ignoct Zine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-24 00:02:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20016958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grey/pseuds/grey_sw
Summary: Ignis can't match Prompto's unconscious ease with a pistol, but the gun still looks at home in his hand, just as it always did on the range at the Citadel. The sight is so familiar that Noct can almost taste the acrid tang of propellant, almost hear the crack of firing. Ignis' reflection floats in the closest window, hand outstretched, and Noct glances at it, half expecting to see a pair of hearing protectors perched on a combed-down haircut. The illusion hits with a rush of affection, both for the boy Ignis was and the man he's become; he's still Noct's greatest partisan, still a loyal knight with a toy air gun in his hand.He'sdefinitelygoing to win that fish.





	End of the Road

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2018 for Matsuri: An Ignoct Zine. Inspired by Ignis' undying loyalty & the bittersweet beauty of Chapter 15, and (very loosely!) based on a bonito festival held yearly in Kochi Prefecture, Japan.

The lure hits the water with an audible splash, sinking little by little into the dark. Noct jinks the line every second or so, emulating the strike of a feeding fish, and the coins strung over his mantle jingle with each _pop_ of his wrist. They catch the light of the afternoon sun, throwing tiny sundogs against the sides of the boat. Noct watches them flit back and forth with the motion of the waves, and then he watches the line, and then he looks up to watch the clouds as they scud across the bright bowl of the sky. 

"Nothing biting?" Ignis asks at his back. His shadow moves against the port side of the boat, sipping Ebony.

"Not really."

"Hmm."

Noct gives the line one last twitch, lets it settle, and then starts to reel it in.

"We've still got a couple hours of sunlight left... I was planning to go for one of those tuna. Got any better ideas?" he asks.

Ignis makes another noncommittal sound, and sips his drink again. Noct waits for him, still reeling the line; now he's certain that Ignis has something interesting for him, if he can only tease it out.

( _It's a bit like fishing_ , he thinks, and smiles to himself. _Maybe that's why I like it so much._ )

"We might stop by Altissia this evening, if you like," Ignis says, just as Noct's ready to throw the line out again.

"Yeah? What for?"

"Oh, nothing special."

Noct lets his eyebrows drift upward as his elbow drifts out. Then he opens his hand to let the rod and reel drop into the Armiger, already turning to the tiller. In his experience, _nothing special_ is Ignis for _this is going to blow your tiny mind, but I'm not about to admit it_. Half of Noct's all-time best adventures started that way (and the other half started with Prompto: _hey, Noct! Bet you can't do **this!**_ ).

Ignis nods and settles onto one of the seats by his side, cocking one ankle up onto his knee. A shadow passes up and over him, and then back down. Gladio, doing pullups again. Noct spins the wheel, and the shadow shifts, and his father's boat turns smoothly into the sun.

\---

By the time they hit Altissia, Noct knows something's up: the docks are _packed_. They drift up and down three times before another boat pulls out to give them a berth, and Gladio ties off the line while Prompto hops up and down.

"What _is_ all this?" he asks, and then throws up a hand to shield his eyes. "Noct, look! Chocobo rides!" 

Noct turns to look, and sure enough, there are five sleek chocobos tied to a rail by the water. Their tack is done in a bright, shimmery blue, scalloped like scales, and it shines in the evening light. Prompto dashes up to them, grinning, and then stops short.

"Noct, Noct! You're not gonna believe this!"

"Kid's really gettin' going," Gladio snorts.

"No, seriously! 'The sixteenth annual Altissian bonito matsuri'. It's a **fish festival** , dude. A festival of fish!"

Noct grins, choking back a laugh, because of course it is. And there's Ignis at his elbow, demure as always, fiddling with his glasses and glancing away. 

"Well," Noct manages. "What a surprise." 

\---

Fifteen minutes later, he and Ignis are standing alone on the pier, watching more boats pull in. Prompto had dashed off right away ("Chocobos, dude. Cho-co-bos."), and Gladio had followed for a while before getting lured in by a lecture on subsistence fishing. Noct and Iggy made it halfway around the block before a poster caught Noct's eye: a fishing contest, to be judged that very evening.

"I'm gonna win it," Noct vows, and sends out his line.

It might be tough. There are no less than three other anglers on the pier, and the water traffic is bound to scare the fish away. Still, Noct knows how good he is, and he's got experience fishing bonito. Insomnians call it _katsuo_ \-- sliced thin and served with a wedge of lemon, it was one of his father's favorite meals.

"Katsuo calls for a shiny lure, don't you think, Noct?"

"Definitely. And a ten pound line, and..." He trails off, picking through the tackle box for his Leviathan lure. 

Ignis steps forward as the first cast hisses outward, scanning the water. Noct watches him more than the waves, admiring the sleek, strong lines of his shoulders. He's foregone his Glaive uniform today, resplendent in spotted purple. It's kind of a shame, because Noct loves him in it; he'll never tire of seeing Iggy in shining buttons and tall, taut trousers. But the coeurl print is lovely, too, a reminder of days gone by. 

(Noct spins the reel, and hums to himself, and admires the view as Ignis squats down to get a closer look.)

Time passes. Noct lets himself space out, lulled by the sun on the sea, trusting in Ignis to watch his back. Iggy's commentary is quiet, respectful, a gentle stream of reassurance. The lure flicks outward, and Noct pulls it back in. He reels it into shore, and then plops it back into the water. 

There's a bite on the line. Noct turns the rod into it quick, before Ignis can 'advise' him, and the fight is on. 

\---

He and Ignis stroll back up the pier half an hour later, with an eight-pound silver fish. It's got a neat set of corkscrew stripes along its back, like the shirt Iggy wears with his suspenders, and it's probably almost, but not quite, enough to win that contest. 

No matter. He and Ignis caught it together, and that's enough for him. They register Noct's catch at a booth covered in fishing lures and grinning cartoon bonito, and then they walk back down the block, up two sets of stairs, and then across to the next island, hand in hand. 

"Iggy, look," Noct says, and tugs his friend closer to a booth set up by the water. There's a guy in there with a _huge_ whole katsuo, almost twice the size of the one Noct caught. He's dressed in a fisherman's shirt and cap, with grey pants tucked into rubber boots, and in his hand is a long pole with the fish speared on it.

"There are plenty of ways to prepare bonito," he starts telling the crowd. "Dried and used as stock, it's the backbone of traditional Insomnian cooking. Simmer it with a little salt or soy sauce like we do here in Altissia, and it's perfect with wine or beer. But _this_ " -- he gestures to a smoldering pile of hay at his side -- "is the best way to savor fresh bonito. Roasted just enough to sear it, sliced thin with a touch of garlic!"

 _Countdown to the recipe book,_ Noct thinks to himself. _Three. Two. One._

Ignis dips into his breast pocket and comes back with his little black book, along with the pen Noct gave him for graduation. The Altissian guy thrusts the fish into the pile of burning hay, nestling it into the middle, and Ignis starts scribbling like a madman, leaning forward to get a better look. 

Noct grins, admiring the sight of Ignis in his element. He'd bet ten thousand gil that his prim and proper Iggy's never cooked anything in burning straw... and he'd bet a hundred thousand that he'll reproduce this recipe the next time they're camping on the beach at Galdin Quay, as if it's no trouble at all. 

It won't be, not for Iggy. After everything that's happened, Noct's convinced that Ignis can do anything he puts his mind to. Noct thinks back, without quite meaning to: back to the train, back to disappointment and loss. Back to the shine of moonlight on thrown daggers. Back to-- 

Beside him, Iggy snaps his notebook closed, and Noct blinks his memories away. The fish is done, steaming on the flagstones. The guy pours a bucket of water over it to stop the cooking, and then hauls it up and slices it open, pulling out the guts. Minutes later, there's a pile of pink, tender slices stacking up in front of his knife, ringed with a rind of roasted brown. The aroma that rises up from it is sublime, rich with smoke and sea. It's everything Noct loves about fishing, served up for his delight.

 _Best festival **ever**_ , he thinks, and his blatant betrayal of the glory of AssCreed doesn't bother him in the least.

"Here you are then, Noct! Done to a turn."

Ignis hands him a plate with six or seven flawless slices, graced with a splash of soy sauce and a neat mound of grated garlic. He and Iggy trade off on one pair of chopsticks, savoring every bite. Ignis smirks and feeds Noct the last precious piece, just like he did when they were small, and Noct feels his face go almost as pink as the fish.

Nobody pays them any mind, not in Altissia. They've made some awful memories in the city by the sea, but some damned good ones, too -- that's why Noct and his friends keep on coming back. 

(They have time, now, Noct thinks. Time enough to be together, to make new memories.

They have all the time in the world.)

He and Ignis walk shoulder to shoulder up the street and around the corner. The next booth over is a shooting game: there's a paper target blowing in the breeze, capped by a bronze bell. _Ring the bell and win the biggest prize!_ , says the awning in bright gold letters, and the awning is hung with what has to be a hundred stuffed fish plushies. They range in size from tiny ones, each capped with a silver keychain, to massive pillow-sized fish in gold and blue and silver. 

Noct lingers a little too long at the counter, sizing them up. 

"Would you like one, Majesty?" Ignis asks, and does not wait for an answer. He's handing the guy a thousand gil before Noct can stop him, in exchange for an air gun and a handful of pellets.

Ignis can't match Prompto's unconscious ease with a pistol, but the gun still looks at home in his hand, just as it always did on the range at the Citadel. The sight is so familiar that Noct can almost taste the acrid tang of propellant, almost hear the crack of firing. Ignis' reflection floats in the closest window, hand outstretched, and Noct glances at it, half expecting to see a pair of hearing protectors perched on a combed-down haircut. The illusion hits with a rush of affection, both for the boy Ignis was and the man he's become; he's still Noct's greatest partisan, still a loyal knight with a toy air gun in his hand. 

He's _definitely_ going to win that fish.

Noct's so sure of it that he almost misses the shot. The sharp little _crack_ of the pellet barely sinks in, lost in Noct's admiration for the way Ignis' finger moves, smooth and sure upon the trigger. But the bell does not ring in answer. 

Ignis' eyes narrow behind his glasses, honing in on the unblemished target as it sways in the breeze. 

Noct finds himself taking half a step back.

Another shot follows, and another, both pocking the edges of the target, and then Ignis steps forward to give the guy another handful of gil. The gun's aim isn't working the way Ignis expects it to, and he's starting to get frustrated by it. Noct can tell by the crinkle between his brows, by the way his hand tightens around the grip of the pistol. 

"You almost got it!" The man behind the counter smirks as he speaks, and the teasing edge to his voice makes Noct want to growl under his breath.

 _Yeah, almost,_ Noct thinks, reading Ignis' face the way he might on the battlefield. _You know the game is rigged, Iggy. You know it. You just haven't worked out how yet._

Ignis' next shot is wide of the mark, this time to the left, and that's the last data point he needed. His brows relax, and the tension slips from his shoulders, leaving him standing loose and limber on the cobblestoned street. He sets his boots at shoulder width and lifts the gun in both hands, cradling it between his gloves. 

Slowly, as if in sleep, Ignis' eyes slip closed behind his glasses. His chin tilts forward and down, so his right ear can catch the faint sound of the whispering paper, and his hands come up to meet it, moving with surety.

The bell rings.

The guy behind the counter looks stunned, as though he's got no comeback for this. Ignis just reverses the gun and hands it over, without so much as a smile, and then turns to Noct and nods, as if in question.

Noct lets the guy choke on his wicked grin as he points to the largest and most splendid fish of all, the one he'd had his eye on from the start.

He clutches his prize as they make their way back up the avenue, laughing aloud at the size of it. It's nearly as big as he is, like a fish-shaped body pillow, and it's even softer and squishier than it looks. Its scales are done in tiny sequins that flit back and forth when he touches them, and its markings are true to life: it's the perfect image of a Dusk Lucian Carp when its scales lie down smooth, sparkling silver like the moon. Noct flicks the scales upward with the edge of his hand, turning them over in swathes, until his fish shines a mottled, molten gold in the evening sunlight.

It takes him a minute to place it, because he'd only ever managed to catch a single Dawn Carp. It'd taken hours of effort, and Prompto never let him live it down -- he'd declared it "the MVB" of the whole journey (which turned out to stand for "Most Vividly Boring"), and had dragged Noct away while swearing to declare Crestholm Reservoir off limits forever... which it might as well have been, since Noct and his friends beat the Jormungand, took the Royal Arm, and then never returned. 

"Hey, Iggy. When we're done here we should go back and catch a real one," Noct says. He gives his new friend a squeeze, burying his face in it like a kid, and Ignis laughs. 

"So we should. I rather like that recipe, and Gladio still mentions it now and again. And there is that door at the bottom of the Channels..." He trails off, lost in thought. Noct glances up at him -- at the sharp, green gaze behind his glasses, bright as the disc of the sun -- and lets his heart swell with love for him, and with gladness.

\---

They walk together for a while yet, chatting quietly, getting lost. Altissia's always like that: you turn one corner and then spend an hour finding your way back to the hotel. Noct thinks the street across the canal looks a bit familiar (is that Secretary Claustra's place?), but by the time they figure out how to get over there, he and Ignis realize they're lost again.

"Let's just take a gondola, shall we?"

Noct nods, yawning over the top of his new prize. They pile into the boat and sit side by side across the gunwale seat, and Ignis' arm is solid and hot across Noct's shoulders. 

"The Leville, please," Ignis says. "You can nap if you like, Noct. I'll wake you when we get there."

Noct just rests his chin on the soft plush of his fish, already way ahead of him.

He wakes slowly, bit by bit, sometime later. The gondolier is gliding their boat through a set of stone gates, out into the wideness of the bay. The sun's hanging low over the sea, huge and gold, turning the waves into shivering slivers of light. The air's already cooler, already darker, heavy with the promise of night, and yet here they float: Noct and Ignis, together, cradled by the last of the evening's rays. 

Ignis' nose is buried in Noct's hair, his cheek close against Noct's ear. Noct can feel the breath flow out of him, silent and precious, in and out like the whisper of the tide. The hotel's all the way on the other side of the bay, and yet Noct scarcely minds. He could stay here with Ignis forever, just like this, for all time.

He really could, he thinks. This could be always, if he wants it to be. 

All he has to do is ask.

Ignis places a kiss on the soft skin of his neck, just beneath his ear. Noct thinks _yes _and _forever_ , and shuts his eyes, and turns to kiss him back. He lays his lips against Ignis' proud chin, and his warm mouth, and his arched eyebrow, and then the apple of his cheek, just where it meets his left eye. __

__"What do you think, Specs?" he asks, sometime later, as they float their way back to the hotel. "Should we stay another day?"_ _

__"Of course, Noct," Ignis says, and nuzzles his forehead again, smiling against the softness of his hair._ _

__"Whatever you like, Your Majesty. Whatever you like."_ _


End file.
